


Not the Doctor

by balthazars_arm_candy



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, My First AO3 Post, POV First Person, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazars_arm_candy/pseuds/balthazars_arm_candy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Peter Capaldi works for the Scottish division of UNIT, and is assigned to protect the real Doctor's newest granddaughter (the reader) from evils that want to use her to exploit the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> (P/N) = Parent/Guardian's name.

** Chapter 1 - The Drive **

The night is dark outside, except for the bright white streetlamp shining through my bedroom window. I wonder if maybe that’s what’s keeping me awake; wonder if it would help if I went and closed my curtains. I screw my eyes shut once again, pull my duvet up around my chin and turn over. There’s no way I’m getting out of bed for anything, and besides, I know that’s not what’s really keeping me awake.

Lost in my empty thoughts, I jump a little when my phone starts to vibrate. I reach under my pillow and check the screen, frowning when the caller ID shows as Unknown. I dither a bit before jabbing my finger on the green icon and holding the phone to my ear.

‘Hello?’ I say quietly, not wanting to wake the girls sleeping in my room. ‘Who is this?’

‘(Y/N), quick. There’s no time to explain.’ A strangely familiar voice comes through the speaker. ‘Meet me on the corner of your street in, uh, 60 seconds.’

‘Wait, what? Who are you? How do you know my name?’ I ask.

‘That doesn’t matter. Just come outside, quickly. I’ll explain everything on the way.’ The more I hear the voice, the more I realise that the anonymous caller is decidedly Scottish.

‘On the way where?’ I whisper fiercely, sitting up in bed and pushing back the covers. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to go outside to meet a strange man in the middle of the night.’

‘Oh? So why are you already getting up then?’

I freeze just as my feet touch the floor, fear shooting through me for one of two reasons. Either the man is watching me, or worse, he’s able to predict my curiosity. I make to hiss at him through the phone, but he’s already hung up. Frustrated at my inability to resist this most questionable of situations, I slip quietly from my room, make my way downstairs, and pull my thick coat on over my nightie. I shove my phone into my pocket and my feet into my Converse, and leave the house, grabbing my key on the way out.

I walk quickly to the end of my street, the cold October air biting at my bare legs. I slow when I notice the tall, thin man pacing in front of his dark, shiny car, a wave of nervousness making me regret the decision to listen to the call of a stranger.

But I stop dead altogether when I get close enough to recognise him.

He suddenly realises I’m there, gives a start, and hurriedly opens the passenger door of the car.

‘Quickly, quickly!’ He beckons, waving his hand urgently. ‘Time is of the essence here, (Y/N).’

I close my gaping mouth, and manage to stammer out, ‘M-Mr _Capaldi?_ ’

‘Yes, well done. Ten out of ten. You really are very observant,’ he says all in a rush. All very patronising too. ‘But Peter is fine. Also, would please just get in the car?’

‘W-why?’ I ask, still stunned. ‘I can’t go anywhere with you – I’m in my nightie!’

‘Yes and what a lovely nightie it is too, but there will be plenty of more, er, substantial clothes when we get there.’

‘Where’s _there?_ ’

Peter sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, clearly immeasurably frustrated. ‘Do you want us all to die here?’

I frown, take a step back. ‘W-what?’

He moves towards me, and it’s only now that he’s this close that I can really appreciate how tall the man is.

‘You,’ he points a long finger at my chest, ‘me,’ he points at himself, ‘and everyone else in there that you care so much about,’ he makes a circle in the air towards the general direction of my house, ‘could very well be killed if we don’t get out of here right now.’

A sick feeling drops to the pit of my stomach. ‘You’re going to kill us?’ I whisper.

He flinches away from me as if wounded. ‘What? No no no no. (Y/N), I’m here to help you.’ He steps closer again and takes my shoulders in his hands. ‘If I was going to attack you,’ he says softly, ‘don’t you think I’d have done so by now?’

‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ I frown, surprised at my boldness in the presence of someone so overpowering and under circumstances so confusing.

The hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but then the sound of smashing glass and a gunshot shatters the silence of the night and Peter blurs into action. He hurries me into the car (now that I offer no resistance), and jumps into the driver’s seat, slamming his foot down on the accelerator and speeding away with tyres screeching.

Scared for those we’ve just left behind, I turn around in my seat and crane my neck to see out the back window.

‘What about everyone back at the house?’ I ask, worried. ‘Someone’s got a gun! They’re not safe. We need to go back and-’

‘(Y/N), don’t you think we’d have removed them too if they were in danger?’ he says, not taking his eyes off the road. ‘They’ll be fine. (P/N)’s there, after all.’

I turn back around to look at him. ‘(P/N)? Look, I know he’s the man of the house, but it’s not like he can deal with people who’ve got guns.’

‘He’s an agent, (Y/N),’ Peter sighs. ‘He’ll be fine.’

‘An _agent?_ What are you on about? (P/N)’s a jeweller, has been for years.’

‘I think I know the occupation of the people I work with,’ he replies coolly. ‘Now stop worrying and put your seatbelt on.’

I do as he says, but with every answer he gives, a hundred new questions start to form in my mind. ‘If you work with him, and you say he’s an agent, then that means-’

‘That I am also an agent, yes,’ he finishes for me.

‘But… I mean, OK, I can see how (P/N) could maybe hide something like that, what with his commuting to B------ every day and no one seeing him for twelve hours, possibly using his jewellery shop as a front and…’ I trail off when I see the smug look on his face, suddenly feeling childishly irritated by it. ‘ _Not_ that I’m saying I believe you. He would never keep something like that from his family.’

‘He doesn’t have a choice. None of us do.’

I brush his comment aside. ‘But my point is,’ I continue, ‘even if he could lie about something like that, _you_ certainly couldn’t. You’re an actor! The whole of the western world sees you on Saturday night television for twelve weeks a year – that’s not a front. You _are_ an actor.’

He nods once. ‘You’re absolutely right. I am an actor, and a very good one at that, if I do say so myself.’

I cross my arms, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue.

‘But I am also an agent.’

‘An agent for who?’ I ask, unimpressed and unbelieving.

He lets out a long breath, and smiles. 'Precisely. Look, I understand you’ve got a lot of questions, but I think that’s enough for now, don’t you?’

‘But I-’

‘You should try and get some sleep. It’s late.’

I open my mouth again to protest, but then I remember who the man next to me really is – a world-famous individual who could have very possibly just saved me from being gunned down and killed – and I hold my tongue, wondering where on earth my recent bout of confidence had come from.

‘Alright,’ I say. ‘I’ll sleep.’

He smiles slightly in acknowledgement of my reply, but he barely has time to blink before I carry on.

‘One last thing, though.’

He looks over at me kindly, his blue eyes patient but still intense. ‘Yes?’

I lower my voice. ‘Where are we going?’

He looks back out to the road again, a grin stretching across his crinkled features.

‘Why, to bonnie Scotland, of course.’

 ***

I wake just as we’re pulling in to an empty petrol station, the sky outside my window still dark. I stretch conservatively within the confines of the car, and groan quietly as I realise I must’ve slept awkwardly on my neck. Squinting my eyes against the harshness of the station’s lights, I look over at Peter, just to make sure that everything I thought had happened, had in fact happened.

‘Where are we?’ I ask groggily.

‘Just outside Liverpool,’ he tells me. Once he’s stopped the car, he twists around in his seat and reaches into the back, producing two scarves, a cap and a pair of sunglasses. He hands me the sunglasses and one of the scarves, putting the others on himself. ‘If you’re wanting to stretch your legs, wear those,’ he says sternly. ‘And pull your hood up. We don’t want anyone recognising you.’

‘Why would anyone recognise me?’ I query as I put on my assigned items. ‘You’re the famous one.’

‘I am indeed famous,’ he agrees. ‘But so are you. And in all the wrong circles, I’m afraid.’

I frown. ‘How do you mean?’

We get out of the car, and I lean against one of the station’s pillars as he fills up the tank. ‘The people who’re after you,’ he starts. ‘You’re famous to them. They know everything about you – your age, your education, your height, and your weight, what you look like, the names of all your cats-’

‘I don’t have any ca-’

‘Plus, they’ll be looking for both of us after the little escapade at your house.’

‘What? W-why do people know all that about me?’ I ask, fear settling in my stomach like ice. ‘Have they been watching me? What do they want? I’m not important.’

‘To them, you are,’ he says grimly.

‘But why? And more to the point, what makes me so important that you, an “agent”, has come to stop these other people from getting hold of me?’

Peter pauses as he finishes up with the petrol pump. ‘Everything will be explained when we get there, I promise. Now, shall we pay?’

Frustrated at his obscurity, but knowing I wasn’t going to get any more out of him in that area, I decide to focus instead on the here and now. ‘If it’s so crucial that we’re not recognised, why don’t you just pay at the pump?’

‘Because we’re trying to stay off everyone’s radar, which means no debit cards,’ he explains. ‘Also, I’ve been driving for over four hours and I need coffee. Lots of it.’

Entering the garage shop, Peter makes a bee-line for the make-your-own coffee machine.

‘Four hours? Why’d it take us so long to get to Liverpool?’ I ask.

‘Staying off the radar, remember? That means no motorways, only A-roads.’

I shove my hands deeper into my pockets and blow out air through my cheeks. ‘So what time will we be getting in to Edinburgh then?’ I say quietly, making sure the shop attendant who’s half asleep behind the till doesn’t hear our destination.

‘Hmm, probably around one-ish.’

‘But that’s _seven more hours_ ,’ I point out.

‘Yes, and we’re not stopping again, so go grab some breakfast bars.’

‘I didn’t bring any money with me,’ I admit.

‘I’ll pay,’ he smirks. ‘My treat.’

I roll my eyes at his attempt at humour and wander over to the snacks aisle, picking out my favourites without caring about the extortionate prices.

I re-join Peter just as he’s putting his third cup of coffee in a cardboard holder. ‘You want anything?’ he asks.

‘Does it have hot chocolate?’

Whilst he’s pressing the appropriate buttons, my mind wanders back to the vast oceans of questions that current events have given rise to.

‘So where exactly in Edinburgh are we going?’ I ask him. ‘And why? You say you’re an agent of sorts, so surely there’s a headquarters in London? And if it was urgent to get me away from somewhere, wouldn’t it be more effective to take an aeroplane or-?’

‘You just don’t shut up, do you?’ he interrupts, though not unkindly.

‘Apparently not,’ I smile.

‘And you’re not going to go back to sleep now, are you?’

‘Not likely.’

He lifts his eyes to the shelves in front of us, scans everything for a moment, then plucks a cheap paperback off the nearest display and shoves it in my direction.

‘There you go,’ he says, smiling. ‘That should keep you occupied.’

After we’ve paid for our things and got back in the car, Peter issues an express warning about the coffees and the shiny leather seats.

‘Do not let go of those drinks,’ he says firmly. ‘If so much as one drop of coffee gets spilt on this leather…’

‘Let me guess, you’ll turn this car right back around and hand me over to the Bad Men?’ I suggest, eyes all big and playful.

‘Exactly,’ he smirks.

But only moments after we’ve pulled out of the tiny petrol station, bigger problems arise.

‘Oh crap,’ Peter whispers, staring intently into his rear-view mirror. ‘Crappity crappity- _crap!_ ’

‘What is it?’ I ask, not daring to turn around and see what he’s seen. ‘Is it-?’

‘They’ve found us,’ he says. He looks into the mirror again, and swears loudly. ‘They’ve gone and bloody found us.’

Feeling suddenly paralysed, I hardly have time to react before Peter puts his foot down and the car behind us gives chase. The crack of a gun pierces the early morning air and I give an involuntary shriek as he swerves the car in response.

‘Don’t panic,’ he says, calmer now after his initial outburst. ‘That was just a knee-jerk reaction – we don’t actually have to dodge any bullets they fire our way. The car’s bullet proof.’

The car pursuing us choses this moment to accelerate rapidly, getting close enough to ram into the back of us, making the car jerk and wobble wildly.

‘They’re not going to need to shoot at us if they can knock us off the road!’ I point out.

The car slams into us again, more forcefully, and we’re shunted in our seats.

‘Right. That’s it,’ Peter growls. ‘ _Nobody_ damages my car.’ He reaches one hand across to rummage in the glove box, and pulls out a gun. ‘(Y/N), take the wheel.’

_'What?’_ I exclaim. ‘I can’t drive!’

‘But you can steer. I need to shoot.’

Terrified, I fumble with my words for a way to get out of this. ‘But you said not to let go of the drinks! They’ll spill-’

‘I know what I said!’ He yells. ‘Now, steer!’ And he lets go of the wheel.

With no choice but to obey, I quickly shove the drinks onto the dashboard and reach over and grab the steering wheel, as Peter leans cautiously out of the window to shoot back at our pursuers. Thankfully, the road is empty and relatively straight, but the car’s headlights only illuminate a few metres ahead, and the unknown of the darkness is frightening, especially seeing as how I’m not in control of the pedals.

I hear gunshots and smashes, which I take to be the windows of the other car, but I don’t look back; instead, I keep my wide eyes straight ahead, not daring to lose concentration even for a second.

Suddenly, I hear Peter swear again and he leans back inside, taking the wheel back from me with his free hand. I sit back, sighing in relief that I hadn’t crashed the car, but then I see what caused Peter to change tack. The pursuers were coming up on our right-hand side, and I barely have time to react before they ram into us again, and we almost are pushed off the road completely.

More bangs fill my ears and then a man cries out, and I look over to my right to see that the car has drawn level with us and a figure sits slumped in the passenger seat, dark liquid flowing from his head. The driver roars in outrage and crashes into our car again, before firing randomly through our now open window. Hot pain burns my outstretched arm, and I cry out and Peter looks back at me, panic-stricken. Then a look of determination settles over his solemn features and he guns the engine, accelerating to the point where the nose of our car is just ahead of the other.

‘Hold on!’ Peter shouts, and as he swerves the car across, our back end smashes into our pursuers while our front spins around, forcing them off the road and down the side of a hill. But our momentum is too great, and we follow.

Time seems to slow as we slide down, down, down with the other car, and I can just make out its shadow as it flips over and over again while we spin in all directions, Peter desperately trying to get back in control of the wheel, but it’s impossible. And then trees fill our path and I brace myself for impact-

But instead there is only blackness.

 


End file.
